Don't Do This to Me
by Lastew
Summary: Something makes Sherlock realize that he needs John in his life as more than a friend. But is that fair to make John deal with him, especially when John has to help Harry?


Title: Don't Do This To Me

Author's Name: Laura Sichrovsky

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: R

Word Count: 5945

Pairing: Sherlock/John

Warnings: Drug use and Sherlock/John kissage and snuggling

Spoilers: None really.

Summary: Something makes Sherlock realize that he needs John in his life as more than a friend. But is that fair to make John deal with him, especially when John has to help Harry?

Prompt: Written for an LJ BBC Sherlock Make Me A Monday prompt: What do the Sherlock characters have nightmares about?

Disclaimer: This is where I put the statement saying that I do not own John or Sherlock, (Heh! I wish!), or anything relating to the show or books. No one is paying me to do this and if you feel the sudden urge to send me gifts, you might want to talk to someone about that. Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat own all things _Sherlock_ and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns Holmes and Watson. None of them have given me permission to use these characters as I have so if you have problems with the story, please send the pretzel bombs to me, not them.

Author's Notes: I did this same prompt before, but it just won't seem to leave me alone. Here is another take on it. The prompt is: Prompt from blue_eyed_1987 on The Game is On's _Make Me a Monday #60_: "What do the Sherlock characters have nightmares about? And if maybe there could be some scenes where someone comforts the person who has had the nightmares I'd be very happy." Thanks need to be given, and here is where they go. Thanks to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat for giving me a Sherlock I can get behind. Thanks to Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman for making this Sherlock and John so amazing. I tried to fight it, but they were just too remarkable not to fall for. Big thank yous to Emma de los Nardos and Gemma for the super-fast beta jobs and the hand holding. Your input was invaluable and I owe you both so much! Thank you to Elin for reading this over for me. And my biggest thank yous to my guiding influence and my best friend, Ann. She's the best beta ever and the Sherlock to my John. Without her, I am nothing. (Couldn't do it without you, love. Wouldn't want to try.)

Don't Do This To Me

Sherlock sits on the couch and rolls up his sleeves. A brief thought crosses his mind that he really doesn't need to roll them both up, but he dismisses it quickly. He leans back, taking slow deep breaths, focusing his mind on the moment. He concentrates on the feel of the cool air on his skin, the smells of cleaning products and tea that drift from the kitchen, and the sounds of traffic from the street outside. He centers himself, putting his mind fully on the task at hand.

After a minute, he leans forward, picking up the bottle and the syringe off the coffee table. Sherlock concentrates on the measurement marks, not wanting to get the dosage wrong. It's been over two years since he's done something like this and while he's adjusted the dosage, a part of him is worried that it might go horribly wrong. He sets the bottle back on the table and holds the needle, point up, tapping the plastic to force the air bubbles to the top. He pushes the plunger a bit, watching until liquid dribbles out the top.

Sherlock stops, staring at the needle, and bites his lower lip. He's been clean for over two years and a part of him is screaming that this is just about the stupidest thing he's ever done. The last time he went down this road, he got to the point where he couldn't even work on cases because he was rarely clear headed enough. Mycroft cut him off from the family accounts when he spent enough money on drugs in one month to purchase a small flat. If Lestrade finds out, he very well might cut Sherlock off from his cases. He's sworn he would, but Sherlock isn't sure how strong his resolution is on that point. And then there's John. Thinking about John almost makes Sherlock put the syringe down. If John finds out, there's no telling what he'll do. They've been living together for just over a year now and John is very tolerant of most of Sherlock's bad habits. But this…this is something all together different and Sherlock wonders if John might actually leave. Sherlock can't conceive of John ever leaving him, though. Sherlock frowns as he feels flutters of panic at the idea of John leaving. He doesn't want to look at all the things John makes him think and feel as he realizes that he's never had so much to lose before.

But really, how would Mycroft, Lestrade, or John ever find out about this? Sherlock doesn't intend for it to become a habit again. He just needs something to ease the boredom and quiet his racing mind for a bit. It's been two months since he's had a case and his brain is grinding itself to pieces with the need for some kind of input. Three days ago Sherlock was reduced to sitting in the library deducing patrons for three hours. He almost took up a woman on her offer of coffee and sex, just to give his brain something new to do. All of it was maddening, but not enough to make him truly desperate until the day before yesterday, when John went to visit his sister. Sherlock hadn't realized how much John was a part of his world, until he wasn't there.

The solitude pushed Sherlock over the edge last night and this morning, he went to Bart's to visit Mike Stamford. They had coffee and chatted for a while, all completely normal. And Mike was none the wiser when Sherlock nicked a little something from the drug cabinet. He knows he should be ashamed for what he's done, but the idea of even a few hours of peace in his head makes it hard for him to feel bad about it.

Sherlock looks down at the needle again, weighing out everything, and takes a deep breath. It feels like he's standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to plummet and damned if it doesn't make him feel alive again. He needs this and he's completely alone for the next three days, so really, what's the worst that can happen?

Sherlock squeezes tightly on his left bicep, counting slowly to twenty, watching as the vein of his inner elbow swells. He bites his lip again and releases his grip, then slides the needle in. It stings for a second and Sherlock embraces that, his mind anticipating the pleasure to come. He gently presses the syringe, emptying it, then pulling it out. He puts the needle back on the coffee table and moves to lie down on the sofa, closing his eyes as the first waves of dizziness and lassitude begin to wash through him.

As his ability to think begins to fade, he realizes that he's missed this. It feels amazing, like he's light and empty and couldn't deduce anything if he had to. There's silence in his head, the first in months, and he relaxes into it. His brain is all pictures and colors and he lets himself drift along with them. If he were more himself, he might be disturbed at the turn his thoughts take when they come to John, but all he wants to do is enjoy the images of himself, shoving John against the wall and taking him roughly. He's dimly aware that he's hard and aroused when this John moans and urges him to drive in harder.

There's a banging in the distance and Sherlock opens his eyes, looking around the flat. Seeing nothing, he dismisses it as part of his fantasy and goes back to thinking about how John's tongue tastes. When more noises seem closer, he opens his eyes again with a frown. And suddenly the door is opening and Sherlock feels full blown panic. Who could possibly be here?

Sherlock tries to force himself to a sitting position, but his muscles won't obey. He hears footsteps and struggles harder, refusing to lie helplessly while someone breaks into his home. But the best he can do is to leverage himself a bit, which results in him falling to his hands and knees onto the floor. He tries to push himself up, but his balance deserts him and he falls on his face. The pace of the footsteps increases and someone is right next to him.

"Sherlock? Sherlock are you okay?" It can't be John. He's supposed to be gone for the next three days. But suddenly, Sherlock is being pulled into a sitting position and he's looking into those very familiar green-grey eyes. "Sherlock, talk to me."

"John?" The word comes out slurred and Sherlock mentally cringes. Not good.

"God, what happened?" John asks, reaching out to touch Sherlock's face.

Sherlock involuntarily pulls back and loses his balance, knocking into the coffee table. Everything jostles around and there's a light rumble followed by a small thunk as the syringe rolls off onto the floor. There's a minute of silence as John stares at it. He reaches down and picks it up, looking intently at it, and his jaw clenches. He looks up at Sherlock.

"What did you take?" John whispers.

"John…" Sherlock's brain can't do any better than that, can't form a complete thought. This was after all, why he took the drugs in the first place.

John leans forward and for one second, Sherlock thinks John is going to kiss him and lord, does he want it. But John reaches around him to take the bottle off the table. He reads the label and frowns.

"God, Sherlock," John says, getting to his feet. "What the hell possessed you to take this? How much have you had?"

Sherlock can only blink at him, his mind incapable of forming words, and John bites his bottom lip. Without another word, John turns and leaves the room and Sherlock pushes to lean against the sofa. He searches for the words to say to tell John everything, but can find none and suddenly the blessed silence in his brain is not a good thing.

Knowing he has to get to John, that he has to fix this, Sherlock is struggling, trying to push himself to his feet, when John comes back.

"Stop it. You're going to hurt yourself." John says, pulling him onto the couch.

"Thought…you were…leaving," Sherlock slurs, each word an effort to form.

"Not yet," John says with a sigh. "I went and got something to help you get through this faster."

Sherlock looks and realizes that John has his medical bag and he's pulling out a bottle and a syringe. There's something ironic about all this, but his brain can only interpret it as funny and Sherlock finds himself laughing as John shakes his head and presses his lips together.

"Stay still," John says, his voice tight. John injects Sherlock, then pulls a blanket from one of the chairs to tuck around him. "Try and sleep."

John walks out of the room and Sherlock suddenly feels exhausted. Fighting the effects of the drug has left him sleepy. He closes his eyes.

Sherlock isn't sure how long he's slept, but it can't be too long as his brain still feels slightly foggy from the drugs. It's much more manageable though and he finds that he can actually focus a bit if he tries. He lies there, trying to find the strength to get up and he opens his eyes when he hears John walk into the room. John sits on one of the chairs and looks at Sherlock, who suddenly feels very self conscious.

"How was your trip?" Sherlock asks, fighting for normalcy. "I…I wasn't expecting you back so soon."

"Obviously," John says curtly.

"John…" Sherlock stops, trying to find the words to explain what happened.

"I'm leaving," John says, cutting through the silence.

Sherlock's head snaps up, a bolt of panic ripping through the fuzz in his brain.

"What? For how long?"

"I'm going to Mike's for the night. I've already called him." John is looking at the floor. "I'll…I'll stop by in a few days to get more things and I'll let you know when I find a new place."

"John…" Sherlock gasps his name, all the breath driven from his lungs.

"No." John's jaw clenches and he presses his lips together. "I can't do this, Sherlock. I came home early because I couldn't talk Harry out of drinking and I refused to watch her pass out. All the way back I was thinking how much I needed the calm of home and you and then I come here to find…I can't do this. I really can't. I won't watch the people I love kill themselves."

"Love?" Sherlock whispers, unable to stop himself. He knows John means it in a friendship way, but it sends a thrill through him none the less.

"Not that it matters," John says quietly.

"Of course it matters. I…care for you too."

"It goes…_went_ a bit past caring," John says. He looks up and Sherlock sees tears in John's eyes. "I know it's not really your area, but I had hoped we could be more than friends."

"I want that too, John," Sherlock says quietly.

"I…Sherlock, I…no. I can't." John looks away, pain in his eyes. "I have to watch Harry self destruct, I can't do it with you too. I'm sorry."

"John, no." Sherlock's heart is pounding in his chest. Here is everything he wants and it's being taken from him. "This was a mistake, a one time thing. I just needed…"

"Stop it!" John's voice is harsh. "You stole drugs from Bart's, Sherlock. I talked to Mike. I know what you did. And stealing drugs from a hospital isn't something you do if you aren't desperate and addicted. I'm sitting here wondering how long this has been going on and how I missed it."

"John, I swear, this was the first time in over two years. And I won't do it again."

"I really wish I could believe you, Sherlock." John gets to his feet and walks towards the door. He bends to pick up a duffle bag and turns to look at Sherlock. "I…I think I could have loved you. But I just cannot put myself through this. I'm not strong enough."

"John, please." Sherlock struggles to get to his feet, fighting waves of dizziness.

John just shakes his head and walks out the door. Sherlock moves to go after him, but loses his footing and falls to the floor. His knees sting and he feels his breath catch as he hears the outer door of Baker Street slam and Sherlock understands that his stupidity cost him everything he cares about.

Sherlock sits up, gasping, the darkness pressing in on him and he realizes that he's been dreaming. His heart is racing and he's shaking as his mind comes to terms with the fact that John leaving wasn't real. Sherlock frowns, trying to separate dream from reality. He hasn't had a case in a while, but he hasn't resorted to drugs. John hasn't moved out, but he is visiting Harry for a few days. Sherlock rubs his face, wondering if this is what kicked off the nightmare. More than likely it was that combined with Mrs. Hudson bringing him baked goods to take his mind off of "missing his sweetheart."

Sherlock runs his hand through his hair and lies back down. Much as he hates to admit it, that sentiment set off all sorts of interesting ideas in his head and he spent the night mentally flogging himself for it. He lays in the darkness, snippets from his dream haunting him. He cannot shake the hurt look on John's face and before he can think better of it, Sherlock picks up his phone and texts John. It's harmless really and John is likely sleeping and won't get it until the morning.

_Can't sleep – SH_

Sherlock is just considering making some tea when his phone beeps.

_I can't either_

Sherlock frowns. What is John doing up at…he looks at his clock…three in the morning?

_Everything okay? – SH_

Sherlock sits in the darkness, staring at his phone. It seems to take forever, but is likely only a few seconds.

_Could be better_

Now Sherlock is worried.

_John?_

_Nothing horrible. Just a long night._

Sherlock stares at the text, parsing it for meaning. The problem is that it could mean any number of things. Sherlock takes a shot in the dark.

_Harry?_

_Harry._

_Is she all right?_

If Harry had put herself in the hospital, that would account for John's long night.

_She's sleeping_

Well, then. A lot can be deduced from that. A woman with a chronic drinking problem, her brother is awake at three in the morning after a long day with her and his response to how she's doing is to say she's sleeping. Interesting euphemism for passed out. Sherlock thinks of texting that, wanting John to know he understands, but on further consideration, he thinks it might be too cruel.

_I'm sorry, John_

_Not your fault. Why are you up?_

Sherlock doesn't really think it through before he responds. If he had, he might have censored his reply.

_Nightmare_

_About what?_

Sherlock freezes, staring at the screen. There is no safe way to answer this question. If he talks about the drugs, John will worry. And if he talks about his feelings for John, John will really worry. Great.

_Nothing_

Oh yes, that isn't suspicious or anything. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

_Sherlock?_

_It was nothing important. Just a nightmare._

_About?_

Sherlock can almost hear the tone of voice John would use to say that and he smiles. But that doesn't last long and he's soon frowning and chewing on a thumbnail, thinking of the best thing to say. The easiest thing would be to lie, to just say it was something like killer clowns or Sally Donavan. But somehow, lying to John just feels so…wrong and Sherlock finds himself wondering what that means. He sighs.

_Rather not talk about it._

_Sherlock? Are you okay?_

_I'm fine John._

_Are you sure?_

_Yes, John._

There is silence for a bit and Sherlock wonders if he's upset John. He's just about to text that question to him when his phone actually rings. Before he can even give his usual greeting, John is speaking.

"I don't believe you." Sherlock gasps, the end of his dream suddenly very vivid, John's voice ghosting in his head, _I really wish I could believe you, Sherlock._ He swallows hard. "Sherlock?"

"I'm here, John." Sherlock can hear the slight tremor in his voice and he sighs. "And you should get some sleep."

"Says the man who texted me first."

"Didn't think you'd actually be awake," Sherlock murmurs and John laughs.

"Didn't expect to be." There's a noticeable pause before John speaks again. "Sherlock? What was your nightmare about?"

"I told you, it's not that important. It was more disorienting than frightening." It was partially the truth. Sherlock decides to use a distraction to divert John. "What happened with Harry?"

"The usual," John says with a sigh. "Only five times worse. I've been here all of three days and I think she's been sober for an hour of it. And nothing I say seems to matter."

"I'm sorry, John."

"It's not your fault," John says. "It's just some days I feel like no one puts any value on anything I say."

"I do," Sherlock says before he can stop himself. He closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

"Okay, seriously, what the hell did you dream?" John asks and Sherlock blinks.

"What?"

"You sound…wrong. Something's got you bothered and from that last comment, it feels like it has something to do with me."

Sherlock frowns. How does John do that? He takes a deep breath, feeling trapped.

"It's…stupid, really," Sherlock says. "It's just…you walked out. You left."

"Left what?"

_Me_, Sherlock thinks, but he'll never, ever say it. He closes his eyes.

"Here. Baker Street. You moved in with Mike."

"And that has you awake?" John sounds curious.

"Well, you know how hard it is to find a good flatmate who can put up with the skull."

John chuckles and Sherlock relaxes a bit.

"Better now?" John asks quietly.

"Yes, it is." And it was. Hearing John's voice, his concern for Sherlock and his friendly banter, went a long way towards calming Sherlock's fears. "Anything I can do to make your night better?"

"Knowing you care is helping," John replies. "I just feel so helpless. She's killing herself and there's nothing I can do. What the hell good is it for me to be a doctor if I can't save the people I love?"

Sherlock closes his eyes against the memories from his dream. _I won't watch the people I love kill themselves. _He shakes his head, trying to clear it, hoping John won't notice any lapse.

"I just don't understand," John is saying. "Doesn't she care that she's hurting me by hurting herself? I know she's sick, but that doesn't make this better and it doesn't make me understand why she's choosing the alcohol over me."

All this hits too close to home for Sherlock and he winces, thinking about all the times he chose drugs over Mycroft. Or his parents. Or anything else for that matter.

"Maybe she doesn't realize that's what she's doing," Sherlock says. "Maybe she just needs the escape and she's not thinking about who it hurts."

"I keep telling her that she's hurting me. She lost Clara over it."

"Yes, but maybe she's not hearing that. Maybe she's hearing that she's not good enough and that you don't understand what she's living through."

Sherlock's voice is just above a whisper and he's not sure if John hears him. Part of him hopes he didn't.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"You got clean. You fixed it." John sounds frustrated. "You tried and you made it better."

"After years of hurting my family, just like she's hurting you. John, you didn't know me then and you have no idea how glad I am for that."

"Was it that bad?" John's voice is gentle.

"It was worse." Sherlock needs for John to understand. "Harry usually confines her drinking to her house. Mycroft had to regularly go collect me from whatever club I'd passed out at. Can you even imagine his mortification in having to go to some seedy neighborhood and drag me out, half naked and completely trashed? And I hated him for it. He would ask me how I could abase myself so wholly and all I could think was that he'd never get it."

_I never thanked him for all that_, Sherlock thinks. All the late night calls, all the times of having to say, "Sherlock, put your clothes on and let's get you home." All the times Sherlock told him to piss off. Never once was there a thank you. _Typical Sherlock_, he thinks, shaking his head.

"Why did you?" John asks and Sherlock can hear the tension in his voice. "Why did you do it?"

"It was better than the alternative," Sherlock says. "Being alone with the quiet in my head…hell, a lobotomy was a better alternative."

"So, you think Harry doesn't like being in her own head?"

"By this point, would you?"

"But she doesn't have to…damn it," John says, obviously frustrated. "I can help her. She's been sober. Why would she go back to it?"

Sherlock is quiet. He could supply answers, but they would only give John insight into Sherlock, not Harry. But John is more perceptive than he gives himself credit for and after a minute's silence he speaks again.

"Do you ever think about it?"

"Every now and then," Sherlock says, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"Tonight?" John asks, his voice just above a whisper.

"Not intentionally."

"Your dream?"

When did they start talking like they texted? Sherlock chews his thumbnail again and sighs.

"Yes."

"Is that why I left?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't, you know. I wouldn't leave you if you needed me."

"You would and you should," Sherlock says. "No need for both of us to go down in flames."

"But you don't walk away from the people you love, no matter how bad it gets," John insists.

There's that word again and Sherlock's breath catches in his throat. He wants to tell John that sometimes the best thing you can do for the people you love is to save yourself, but he can't get the words out.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Is this something I need to worry about?"

"After the dream tonight? No."

"The dream was that bad?"

"I never want to be the person who puts that look on your face," Sherlock says with a sigh. "I don't want to see your haunted eyes and know that I did it. Can I promise I won't? No. But I'm sure as hell going to try not to."

"That must have been a hell of a dream," John says quietly.

"I…you're my friend, John. I don't want to disappoint you anymore than I already have."

"You're my friend too. And for the record, you don't disappoint me." Sherlock snorts and John chuckles. "No, I'm serious. Who else would be on the phone with me in the middle of the night trying to make me feel better about things?"

"How do you know I'm not just trying to make myself feel better?" Sherlock asks, closing his eyes again.

"By bringing up your past so I can understand Harry? How does that make you feel better?"

"Valid argument, I suppose." Sherlock wants to believe him, wants to think that there's not a selfish motive behind his actions. But then, isn't making John feel better selfish in a way? And that thought scares the hell out of Sherlock. When did John's happiness become more important to him than his own? "Did it work?"

"I suppose I understand a little better, but it doesn't make this easier."

"You should get some sleep, John," Sherlock says, thinking a nap might not be a bad idea on his end either. "Tomorrow is likely to be just as long for you."

"I think you're right. Thank you, Sherlock."

"Of course, John. Sleep well."

"You too."

And then John is gone. Sherlock puts his phone on the bedside table, making sure to set the ringtone to extra loud, just in case John should call him again, and he settles back on his pillows. He's briefly worried that the nightmare will come back, but talking to John seems to have calmed him down. His thoughts drift as he goes back to sleep and he smiles as they go to him and John having a picnic in the country. Yes, a much better dream indeed.

xxxxxxx

Sherlock is aware of sunlight streaming into his room and he frowns, burrowing his face into the pillows. He hates mornings and he hates the overly cheerful sun. Sherlock attempts to go back to sleep, but now that the evil sun has woken him up, his brain is working again and further sleep is a lost cause. Muttering to himself, he rolls over, stretching out the kinks in his back.

Suddenly, he's aware that he's not alone. Sherlock gives a startled yelp and jumps, before he realizes that the person standing in his doorway is John. He frowns, feeling thoroughly confused and sits up in bed, staring at John. Is this another dream? At the sound of his yell, John walks into the room. He smiles and shrugs at Sherlock.

"Sorry about that. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"What the…John…are you really here?"

John laughs, giving Sherlock an odd look.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"But you're at Harry's. I know this because I talked to you last night…or this morning. Whatever."

"Actually, that's why I'm home," John says. He's next to the bed now and he tips his head in a question. Sherlock nods, scooting over, and John sits on the edge of the bed. "You made me realize that I wasn't helping her. And the visit was just depressing the hell out of me. When I got up this morning I packed my things and told her I was going home. She really didn't seem too upset by it."

Sherlock sees pain in John's eyes and reaches out to touch his hand.

"I'm sorry, John."

"Yeah, well, not your fault, is it?" John looks at him, tipping his head a bit. "And how are you doing? Looks like you got some more sleep."

"I did. Thank you for taking my mind off things last night." John is frowning at him and Sherlock can see that he's thinking about something intently. "John?"

"Sorry." John takes a breath and smiles at him. "It's just…"

"It's just what?" Sherlock prompts when John doesn't continue.

"Your dream. You said I left because you…took drugs again."

Sherlock nods at him, wondering where this is going.

"You came home from Harry's and found me passed out on the couch," Sherlock says, looking down at his hands. "Told me you couldn't deal with it, not after Harry."

John is nodding at him, his face thoughtful.

"That makes sense. I'm not sure how I'd handle it if that really happened, but I do think it might overwhelm me a bit."

John is looking down, his fingers twining around each other. Sherlock realizes that this is a nervous habit for John, that something is making him uncomfortable.

"John? What's wrong?"

"Why did it bother you?" John asks suddenly. "That I moved out, I mean. The dream upset you so much that you couldn't sleep. I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" Sherlock asks, feeling a bit confused.

"Why would you care?" John asks.

"If you left?" Sherlock stares at John, his expression incredulous. "You're my friend, John. Of course I'd care…"

Sherlock breaks off as John waves his hand, shaking his head.

"But I didn't move out, Sherlock. It was only a dream. Why did it get to you so badly?" John is frowning again. "I've seen you completely dismiss bigger things. What aren't you telling me?"

Sherlock shakes his head, suddenly sure this has to be another dream. He looks up to see John staring at him and he feels the slight threads of panic.

"John…" But he has no idea where to go from here.

John reaches out and puts his hand on Sherlock's his thumb rubbing comforting circles over Sherlock's skin.

"I'm sorry," John says, sighing. "I have no idea why I can't get this out of my head. Maybe it's because I've never seen you so emotional about anything before."

"I've never really cared about anyone this much before," Sherlock says and then he winces.

He hadn't intended to say anything even close to that. He closes his eyes and bites his lower lip, praying that this is a dream and that he'll wake up any second. The thumb rubbing the back of his hand has stilled its motion and Sherlock knows that any second John is going to get up and leave.

"Sherlock?" John's voice is gentle. "Sherlock, look at me."

Sherlock looks up, terrified of what he might see in John's eyes. John is smiling at him.

"You know, for a man who makes his living keeping things hidden, you are appallingly bad at this. If you hadn't flinched and been so dramatic, I wouldn't have thought twice about what you said."

Sherlock blinks at him, realizing that he's pretty much right. Sherlock sighs.

"John…I…this isn't…"

"I know," John says, taking Sherlock's hand in his. "This isn't really your area, is it?"

Sherlock shakes his head, looking down at their joined hands.

"Does it make it easier if I say I feel the same way about you?" John asks gently.

Sherlock looks up, his eyes wide, his heart racing.

"You…you do?"

"Have for a while," John says, smiling. "But I never thought you would return it."

"I didn't intend to," Sherlock says. John laughs and Sherlock frowns. He thinks over what he just said and suddenly realizes how it could be taken. "Oh, that sounded awful, didn't it? I didn't mean…"

"I know," John says, still chuckling. "I'm just going to take it that you think I'm irresistible."

Sherlock laughs too, feeling a level of happiness he hadn't realized existed. He gives John's hand a squeeze, trying to convey his feelings through their touch. John picks up their joined hands, bringing them up to kiss Sherlock's knuckles. A shock goes through Sherlock and he looks up at John, eyes wide. John gently runs his tongue around a knuckle and Sherlock gasps, his breath catching in his throat.

He needs more, needs John, and Sherlock pulls their hands down, leaning forward to catch John's mouth in a desperate kiss. John brings his free hand up touching Sherlock's face, drifting back to tangle in his hair. When John's mouth opens under his, Sherlock isn't entirely sure how to react. It's not as if he hasn't had sex before, but most of his couplings were desperate shags in back rooms, heavily under the influence of drugs. Something this intimate is completely new to him. John's tongue finds Sherlock's and gently strokes along it. Sherlock loses his breath, overwhelmed by physical sensation and emotions.

John breaks the kiss, smiling at Sherlock.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

"More than," Sherlock replies, leaning forward for another kiss.

John stops him and Sherlock feels a surge of panic.

"John?"

"I haven't changed my mind," John replies. "I just need to make sure we're on the same page here."

"And what page is that?" Sherlock asks, trying not to be distracted by John's lips.

"This isn't just sex for me, Sherlock. Can you say the same?"

"I assure you, John, if this was just sex, we'd already be naked and well on our way to you riding me until I can't think." John's eyes go wide and Sherlock wonders if he's been too blunt. He takes a breath. "This is new for me, John, but I want it. God help me, I actually want it. And I don't want to do anything that will hurt you. You…you mean too much to me."

John leans in this time and his kiss is gentle and full of emotion. Sherlock closes his eyes and breathes deeply, letting himself feel everything. When John breaks the kiss, his eyes are dark and his breathing is hitched.

"I love you, Sherlock," he whispers, his hand coming up to stroke Sherlock's cheek.

"I…I think I…" Sherlock pauses, swallowing hard. "I think I might love you too."

John smiles at him, looking happier than Sherlock has ever seen him. He arches an eyebrow at Sherlock.

"What?"

"I was just thinking about what you said earlier," John says, staring at Sherlock's lips.

"Which part?"

"The part about what we'd be doing if it was just sex to you." John is trembling and Sherlock smiles. "If we take it slowly and throw in a lot of kisses, is that still an option?"

"I very much hope so," Sherlock says, pulling John in for more kisses.

xxxxxxx

Sherlock yawns, snuggling further under the covers, wrapping himself around John. John murmurs in his sleep, burying his face in Sherlock's neck. It's dark outside now and the sounds of nighttime on Baker Street are drifting up from below. Sherlock wonders if he should feel guilty that they spent the whole day in bed. It wouldn't be a first for him, but he has to admit that being with John was much more interesting than reading chemistry textbooks all day.

Sherlock leans down, kissing the top of John's head, breathing in the scent of John's hair. He has to confess that he was surprised to discover that sex with someone you care about is completely different than casual sex. In all of Sherlock's other encounters, it had been all about the pleasure he could get from the other person. But with John, while the physical sensations had been amazing, Sherlock discovered that he had a fascination with John's reactions to his touch. John's moans and gasps had done as much to excite Sherlock as his kisses had. He wanted to do everything he could to bring John pleasure and that had lead to some interesting experiments. He'd learned that John had extremely sensitive nipples and that melted chocolate stained sheets. Ah well, the sheets were old and it was worth the sacrifice for the way John begged and whimpered when Sherlock cleaned the chocolate off with his mouth.

John shifts in his sleep, pulling Sherlock closer and Sherlock is surprised to realize that he doesn't mind at all. Historically for him, physical intimacy has been a means to an end; a way to relieve his tensions, motivation for information on a case, or a reward for someone sharing their drugs with him. Even something as simple as snuggling had no appeal to him. He endured it, but he never craved it. Here, with John in his arms he finds that he enjoys it, wants it, and he can't help but smile. John has changed everything, changed him in all the best ways. The dream that started all this was one of his deepest fears, but Sherlock now understands that it was simply a nightmare. He will not disappoint John that way, to do so would break Sherlock's heart. He also knows that John will never leave him. Sherlock closes his eyes and swallows hard at that last thought. John loves him and he will stay because he wants to be with Sherlock and sees something worth loving in him. As Sherlock snuggles closer to John and drifts off to sleep, he vows to always be worthy of that love.


End file.
